


A December Yarn

by johnsarmylady



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Bordom, Experiments, Gen, Past Mysteries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 01:24:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2754341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnsarmylady/pseuds/johnsarmylady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Holmes recounts a mystery from his past, and Dr Watson is proved right! A birthday fic for the lovely Jack63kids</p>
            </blockquote>





	A December Yarn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jack63kids](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack63kids/gifts).



> Stepping away from my ordinary style, here is a birthday fic for my dear friend Jack63kids...Happy birthday honey!  
> Jack gave me three words...coffeepot, fundamental and yarn...and here's what I did with them...

I looked gloomily out of the window and down onto the snow-covered cobbles of Baker Street, wishing more than I ever had before for a new case, a puzzle to tease the brain of my dear friend Sherlock Holmes.

It had been a quiet few days coupled with heavy snow falls, and Holmes I felt sure would be driven to seek other means of occupying his magnificent brain – I confess I was feeling fretful.

How long I stood there I cannot say, but you may imagine my surprise when, as the grey day faded into the gaslight yellow-stained evening, Holmes swept from his room wearing his best blue silk dressing gown and settled himself in front of the roaring fire.

“What an evening, Watson!” he exclaimed, more cheerful that I expected him to be.

I turned and surveyed him, but could see no sign that he had indulged in his favourite seven percent solution. Before I could reply he leaned forward and thrust another log into the flames.

“Do close the curtains and come and sit down, my dear fellow, and let us shut the world out for this evening.”

“Why of course.” I responded, matching actions to words, and as I did Holmes dashed to the sitting room door.

“Mrs Hudson? Mrs Hudson!” he strident voice echoed down the staircase, and as he returned to his chair I could hear our much put upon housekeeper moving up the stairs, her skirts rustling as she moved.

“Ah, Mrs Hudson, pray bring the **coffeepot** for the good doctor and myself.” He waived a slender artistic hand in her general direction. “And a plate of your most delicious biscuits, if you would be so kind.”

“Mr Holmes!” Flushed and flustered from having rushed up the stairs, Mrs Hudson scolded her tenant. “I thought there was at least some imminent disaster, the way you were shouting.”

Holmes, as usual, was in no mind to pay attention.

“Mrs Hudson,” I tried my best to sooth her. “If you would be so good, we would both appreciate a warming coffee which wouldn’t be the same without….”

“Yes Doctor, and I need none of your flattery either.” Wiping her hands on her apron, the good housekeeper returned to her kitchen.

“Holmes?” I moved to sit opposite him beside the fire. “What madness has afflicted you tonight?  You seem almost jolly, despite the lack of a conundrum sufficient to occupy your mind.”

Holmes raised an elegant eyebrow.

“On the contrary, my dear Watson, I have an ongoing experiment which, once our refreshments arrive, I intend to resume however,” He leaned forward, a smile gracing his normally austere features. “I propose that while we are waiting we while away a little time in discussion.”

I confess that at that moment I didn’t quite know what to make of my good friend’s state of mind. On seeing my puzzlement he sat back once more.

“Let me tell you, “ said he, “of a night not unlike this, some ten years past, when I was approached by an influential member of the aristocracy on a matter of extreme delicacy…..”

_It was shortly after I moved into my previous lodgings, a cold and desolate room in Montague Street, one where its only favourable point was that the Turkish landlord cared not who came and went, and at what hour, nor concerned himself with the hobbies of his tenants._

_That evening, close to midnight, I was returning home from a strained dinner at my brother’s club – once again Mycroft was trying to interfere in my life, and as ever I avoided his interference – however I digress._

_I noticed that I was being followed, as I turned off the Whitechapel Road I could see my stalker, poorly hidden amidst snowflakes and shadows, and as I opened the front door, fumbling the key in the lock deliberately to give her time to reach me, she faltered slightly, then grasped her courage and dashed to my side._

_“Mr Holmes?” She asked “Sherlock Holmes?”_

_I doffed my hat._

_“How may I be of service to you my lady?” I replied, and saw shock in her eyes, yet she allowed me to lead her into the house, and up to my room._

_“Pray, make yourself comfortable” said I as I led her to the only chair in the room. “And tell me what it is I may do for you.”_

_Giving her the pretence of a little privacy while she gathered her thoughts, I chivvied the fire to life, adding a log or two before seating myself on the bed._

_Clasping her hands together, she began her tale._

_“There is a creature – a man or woman I cannot tell – that appears every morning, early, on the edge of the tree line surrounding my home. Every morning Mr Holmes, yet when I send a servant to see what they want by the time the servant gets to the spot they are gone without a trace.”_

_As she spoke my mind was already turning over the possibilities. I questioned her for almost an hour then paused to arrange the facts in my mind as I saw them._

_“Mr Holmes please,” she said, standing to pace in front of the fire. “I risk much to come to you at this hour but my desperation knows no bounds. Will you help me? Will you find this fiend, this apparition, and determine what it wants with me?”_

_The prospect of the puzzle, and better still, warm winter quarters if only for a day or two, made my decision for me, and I promised to present myself at her Oxfordshire home by nightfall the very next day. With profuse thanks she left, and I watched from the window as a carriage, its coat of arms poorly covered by a cheap piece of cloth, stooped at the corner of the street and picked her up.”_

“Good Lord, Holmes,” I ejaculated. “This is all very mysterious! Who was this lady?”

“Ah, Mrs Hudson!” my friend ignored me completely as he moved to take the tray of coffee and biscuits from that inestimable lady and placed it on the table between us.

Returning to his seat he gestured to me to pour the coffee while he continued his story.

_The Oxfordshire country house of the Lady Madeline Confitt sat close to the Northamptonshire border, in the district of Cherwell, and was a modest house by aristocratic standards, well-appointed and surrounded by beech and oak trees._

_On arrival I was greeted with a degree of suspicion by the master of the house._

_Lord Eustace Confitt was a bluff Lancastrian who had ascended to the peerage through hard work and the building of silk mills, a trade which brought prosperity to both man and country.  He was sceptical of his wife’s visions, saying it was brought on by the poor woman’s lack of children – the couple having been married nigh on twenty years yet there was no issue – and he believed I would but take her money and give nothing in return, that was after I had convinced him that I could name influential members of the government who could verify that I had spent the last weeks in London and not in the county of Oxfordshire setting his wife’s nerves on edge._

_With the realisation that I would say or do nothing to support his views he rather bad temperedly had me shown to my chamber and returned to his brandy and his fireside._

_His belligerence was not unexpected, no man likes another to be brought in to solve the mysteries of his household, and when said man doesn’t believe the mystery in the first place it is inclined to make him somewhat querulous. I paid it no heed of course, for here was the heart of the puzzle, and though I joined the family for dinner (for how else was I to observe other than first-hand the truth of the living arrangements in the house) There was nothing in either the demeanour or actions of the extended family gathered there that evening that gave the impression of something foul being afoot, so when I excused myself after the meal I set about finding out what I could about the staff._

_The tweeny that had been assigned to make my room comfortable for the night was an ideal source of information, and I learned much about who truly ran the household, and who was there under somewhat dubious pretences.”_

This was too much.

“Really Holmes,” I laughed “gossiping with the servants?” 

I watched as he nibbled delicately at a second biscuit, his eyes meeting mine with depth of purpose, as if to read my scepticism there.

“Oh my dear doctor,” he drawled at last “it was **fundamental** to the solving of the case. Never underestimate the ill-treated underlings in a house where the butler rules with a rod of iron.”

“Rod of iron?”

“Be at peace now dear fellow, and I will explain all.”

_It seemed that young Sarah had been due a promotion to second housemaid when a mysterious relative of Mr Clarge, the intransigent, inflexible butler arrived. Mr Clarge it seemed was a servant whose word was law both upstairs and down – even his masters took his advice – and he believed himself above reproach or recrimination. Employment of new staff was in his hands, and without a by-your-leave he employed his so-called niece to be second housemaid despite her lack of training and references._

_It seems the maid in question, who went by the name of Emily, had persuaded Clarge to give her duties in the mistress’s room, making the fire, general cleaning, and then, when the mistress’s personal maid was taken ill Clarge gave Emily the position of lady’s maid, temporarily of course._

_With a few judicious questions I discovered that the lady’s maid, Gladys, became ill a short while after Lady Confitt first became haunted by the creature._

_I also sought the names of the servants sent to seek out the creature, and in the early hours of the morning watched – for I had been given accommodation in the same wing of the building as her ladyship – as the shapelessly clothed creature appeared as if on cue at the edge of the coppice._

_Slipping down the back stairs I hurried out of the building, and crossed the grounds, out of sight of the servant’s hall, and made my way to the treeline._

_True to the lady’s tale, the servant arrived but the creature was gone. Yet my lady was unaware of what was to happen next._

There was a long pause, and I looked up to see Holmes watching me.

“Holmes you can’t stop there!  What happened? And how did you solve the riddle of the snow creature?”

“Goodness me Watson – you’ve found for it an abominable title already!” Filling his pipe from his Persian slipper of tobacco, my friend continued to study me. “The answer was so simple as to be deduced by a child, in fact my dear friend I feel you could have solved it alone.”

Seeing his eyes through the flames from the spill he used to light his pipe, I realised that he had insulted me in the hope that I would bite at the bait, but I have not been his friend and colleague these past eight years or so without knowing when he made sport of my steadfast ordinariness. With a smile I waited until the spill was knocked out on the hearth and Holmes was once more relaxed in his chair.

“Come then, tell me what I should have found had it been I who investigated this mystery.”

He returned my smile and settled in to finish his tale.

_The creature had withdrawn to a spot in the wood out of sight of the house but within sight of the footman sent to seek it out. From beneath its rags the figure of a young woman, younger than Lady Confitt yet not young enough to be considered a maidservant. From behind a tree she retrieved a thick woollen cloak and hood, and with a wave to the servant she turned and left._

_The footman then proceeded to make movements as if seeking signs of the creature’s appearance, when in truth he had taken up a many-twigged branch lying handily against a tree and was sweeping away all trace of the footprints that even I, from a distance, had seen clearly in the snow._

_I returned to the house, and to my room, and when Sarah came to see to my fire I passed her a note to give to her mistress. And so it was that at breakfast I was entreated by the lady of the house to stay another night, and I was in a position to see how her husband craved the opportunity to turn me away but for reasons known only to himself dared not._

_Excusing myself from luncheon on the grounds that I needed to visit the nearby town of Banbury, and as soon as I could I commandeered the staff pony and trap and travelled to the Banbury post office where I sent several telegrams, and while I waited for the answers I took the liberty of studying the ruins of Banbury Castle._

_I did not return directly to the house, instead making use of what daylight I had left to make some investigations of the area where creature/woman had disappeared._

_The evening meal was as strained as it had been the night before, and mein host became increasingly rude, causing his wife no little degree of discomfort._

_As before I retired to bed early, and was this time in the woods before dawn, ready and waiting for our brazen apparition. I don’t think I have heard such language from a member of the fairer sex before or since, but when I dragged her kicking and screaming into the drawing room she used words that I believe the average navvy would be well acquainted with. She tried to deny any wrongdoing, but I had evidence in my pocket would put an end to her machinations._

_Our creature was none other than the sister of Mr Clarge, and his so-called ‘niece’ none other than his own daughter. The servant sent to investigate was his son-in-law, and the plan was the neatest that you could imagine._

_Clarge’s sister was to drive Lady Confitt to believe she was going mad, at which point Emily was to poison her with the nerve tonic her husband had procured for her, making it look as if she took her own life._

_Lord Confitt would inherit his wife’s wealth, and after a suitable passage of time Clarge’s sister would offer succour, worm her way into his life and his bed, and once she had married to him I have no doubt he would have met a bad end._

“By Jove Holmes, so you saved a life, a marriage and a family name all in one fell swoop!” I declared, watching his chin raise and his expression settle into one of pride. “But what brought this tale to mind tonight of all nights?”

“Well Watson, I must in all modesty confess that it was indeed a night such as this, and the snow made it easy to decipher the particulars of this plot.”

There fell then a companionable silence, as we both contemplated the tale that had been told, yet as the clock struck midnight I suddenly remembered our earlier conversation.

“Holmes!” I cried, alarmed. “What of your experiment?”

“Oh yes,” he turned his face away from the fire and steepled his fingers together. “My very good friend, I have to tell you that my experiment was a success.”

“It was?” I was more than a little confused, looking around to see what I had missed.

“Once you told me that I really didn’t need to find other substances to keep my mind occupied, that an evening by the fire talking with a good friend, or friends, should be enough.”

“What…?”

“And so tonight,  while you worried about what action I might take to ‘occupy my magnificent brain’ I decided to test your theory.”

“You mean….”

“Yes John, much as it pains me to admit that you were right, this little experiment has proved that an evening spent in the company of my good friend, telling a December **yarn** in front of the fire, is as good a way as any to keep my brain occupied, so I must thank you dear friend, for your company and your excellent listening skills.”

And bidding me goodnight, he retired to his room, leaving me wondering if the evening had actually happened at all.


End file.
